


Jigsaw

by MathClassWarfare



Series: We’ve Got Plenty of Time [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon Related, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Grief/Mourning, Inspired by Music, M/M, Post-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 06:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15658032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathClassWarfare/pseuds/MathClassWarfare
Summary: Prompto goes to a costume party looking for distraction. He finds someone familiar and has to confront his loss.—This takes place sometime during the events of Chapter 2 ofOnly Human: a possible ending to FFXV—Inspired by the Radiohead song,Jigsaw Falling Into Place





	Jigsaw

Prompto is at the club, the only club that’s re-opened so far in the Crown City. Tonight is a costume party. Masks are required, and available to purchase at the door for those who can’t be bothered to make an effort. There's no cover charge if they like your costume. 

They really liked Prompto’s costume.

He’s a chocobo, obviously. His mask is bright yellow, covered in feathers that fan out in a crown above his head. There’s a little orange beak over his nose. He’s wearing a matching yellow tank top also adorned with feathers, hand-sewn over countless hours during the last week. He did this in the middle of the night while he half-watched videos of people playing games. “NBD. I was awake anyway,” he says whenever anyone marvels at his handiwork. There’s another fluffy spray of feathers attached to the back of his belt, and his skinny jeans are the same shade of brown as a chocobo’s legs. 

Prompto came to the party with his friend Alice. She’s a culture writer in the Meteor's Insomnia office, where he also works. A bunch of Alice's friends are there, mostly artists and musicians, whom Promoto has met before but doesn't know all that well. What he does know is that they are all people who make an effort when dressing for a costume party. They’re a brightly-colored sparkling menagerie, crowded around a small table that Alice managed to snag because she knows a guy, of course. 

Prompto reminds himself to smile. He’s here hoping for a distraction. It’s been a bad day. A bad week. A bad month. Prompto really needs a break from his spiraling thoughts, an endless stream of images he would rather not see. An empty throne room. Flames engulfing the citadel steps. Ardyn’s smirking face. A massive magitek worm bursting out of a snowbank. A bewildering chase through a moving train. Floodwaters rushing over cobblestones. A pile of dead MTs with their masks cracked open to expose their faces—his face. A bathroom scale in an empty house.

Just as their drinks arrive, Willa, who is dressed like a mermaid in a shimmering floor-length skirt and seashell bikini top, hands him a tiny piece of paper featuring an even tinier cartoon malboro. “Here, I heard you might need this.” 

Prompto gives her a quizzical look, cocking his head to the side, appropriately bird-like. Willa is a painter with real talent. Prompto admires her work. He also admires her for not being an asshole. She has been kind to him the handful of times their paths crossed, asking about his photography and sharing her food, or as in this instance, drugs. 

“It expands your mind.” she explains, “Alice says you’re always stuck in there, so you may as well give yourself a little more space." She laughs at her own mixed metaphor and smiles warmly. 

Prompto just shrugs. He places the miniature marlboro on his tongue and wishes away the nightmare. “How long does it take to kick in?” 

“Just a little while. You’ll know.” She squeezes his arm and takes her own hit.

*  


Looking around the club, Prompto thinks _this place is on a mission_. Attractive people in colorful masks and skimpy outfits dance, drink, and flirt in every square foot of the space. Hundreds of strangers all blurring into one celebratory throng. Paisley silk curtains in vibrant purple, orange, green, teal, yellow, and magenta hang in doorways, drape from the ceiling, and obscure booths and secret corners. It’s very dark, but candy-colored neon lights softly illuminate nooks and crannies throughout the sprawling club. A glittering mirrored ball hangs above the main dance floor. 

He’s starting to feel a little better—no longer wound up like a spring. Prompto wishes he had his camera so that he could capture some of this scene. Alice had warned him about the club's strict 'no photography' policy, so he didn’t bring it. He can see the reason why. Some racket they’re calling a photo booth, where party-goers can pay for their picture in front of a wall covered in corporate logos. It reminds him of high school dances, when it was his job to take these sorts of photos. He brings this train of thought to a screeching halt before it leads somewhere he is not prepared to go right now.

Before he’s had too much, Prompto reminds himself to focus on his objective. He's hoping to speak with a particular musician about a photo feature for the Meteor. Alice just texted that she spotted them on the far side of the dance floor, dressed like a burlesque moogle. 

As he moves through the club, scrutinizing every red pom-pom in the crowd, Prompto makes the briefest, passing eye contact with a guy walking the other direction towards the bar. He’s all in black, with little cat ears sewn onto his hoodie and a simple black mask. Prompto’s breath catches in his throat because this guy looks just like Noctis. Saltwater stings at the corners of his eyes.

Prompto has not really started to process Noct’s death. His loss is inconceivable. Too enormous for Prompto to hold out in front of himself and examine. Noct was his best friend, his partner in all things, and his most important person in all of Eos. Prompto feels his absence acutely. It’s always there, and still as raw as the day the sun came back. It's worse now than it was during the Long Night, when he could at least hold onto the hope that Noct would return to him one day. 

It seems like Prompto’s friends are beginning to make some kind of peace with what they have all gone through, but he hasn’t really got there yet. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from pretending that he had. Prompto has perfected the art of putting on a happy face, cracking jokes and making the people he cares about feel better, all while a sea roils inside of him.

Prompto continues walking, but looks over his shoulder to see cat-guy likewise turning his head and looking back at him. He inhales sharply and rubs at his eyes. This is nothing new, he keeps thinking that he sees Noct everywhere. Somebody, maybe Gladio, told him once that grief can make your mind play tricks on you. 

He looks back again and it’s the same. The third time, when they meet one another’s gaze, the stranger gives him a wide grin. Halo’ed in purple light, leaning against the bar, he reminds Prompto of the Cheshire cat. He wonders if that makes him Alice, then remembers that there is already an Alice at this party. He must be the rabbit. 

_That's not Noct. Noct is dead._ But Prompto doesn’t want to think about that right now. Plus, this guy is really attractive. Without stopping to consider whether this is seriously fucked up, Prompto is walking towards the bar.

By the time he arrives, the walls are bending shape. Suddenly, he’s petting the cat, fingers tucked under the hood and tangled in black hair. The bartender slides two drinks over to them, whiskey on the rocks. Prompto tries to speak but anything he could say right now would be imprecise, inadequate. Words are blunt instruments. _Words are a sawed-off shotgun_ , he thinks, taking a sip. It tastes like falling in love. The edges of his vision glow pink. A single large ice cube clinks against the glass and he sees twinkling stars. 

The cat gently takes Prompto’s right hand and turns it over to reveal the barcode on his wrist. He looks intently, for a long time, as if trying to memorize the numbers to write down later. The cat’s eyes drift up above the bar, and with apparent surprise, to the blinking light of a security camera. He immediately ducks his head and starts to slink towards the crowd, a sweaty, glittery kaleidoscope, undulating in time with the music. Prompto quickly grabs the cat’s hand before he runs away, _before you’re lost between the notes_ , and they move towards the dance floor. 

Bathed in the sparkle of the disco ball, Prompto can see the music in swirling colors, like jellyfish and fireworks. He’s surrounded by beautiful fantastical creatures. He's floating in space, unable to feel the floor below or see the ceiling above. They dance and dance and dance and dance. 

The beat goes round and round. Prompto gets dizzy and loses his balance, but the cat catches him and holds him for a breath. Prompto wraps his arms around the familiar stranger and it feels right, like a puzzle piece falling into place. 

They stumble through a door, past a billowing orange curtain, and into a large empty booth. Prompto falls onto his back, pulling the cat down with him, searching with his mouth. When they kiss it feels like the sun, shining brightly after a long absence. All he sees is brilliant white. 

A low, animal noise bubbles up from somewhere deep inside of Prompto, from where he had been burying his grief. He doesn’t notice the tears staining his chocobo mask and running onto the couch cushion beneath his head. 

Then the door opens and Prompto looks up at a woman in an owl mask and sequined mini dress. Rippling waves of silver and bronze glisten out from the shadows. “Prompto,” the owl fondly chides, "No fair taking the karaoke booth to make out.”

“Alice . . .” he begins, but there is nothing to explain.

Prompto gives the cat another pet on the head as he sits up. To Alice he says, “come here,” indicating the cushion next to him, where she sits. 

“Let’s sing a song . . .” she says softly, wiping away the moisture from his left temple, “before we’re comatose.” 

Prompto takes the mic and Alice selects his favorite song. It’s a decades-old pop number with solid musicianship and a very crooney chorus. Lots of long, drawn-out vowel sounds. It’s perfect for karaoke. 

“Come on and let it out,” she says, smiling. So Prompto does, and it feels fantastic. When the song is over, and he opens his eyes, the cat is gone. Prompto’s not sure if he was ever there to begin with.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Jigsaw Falling Into Place_ is not the karaoke song, but it is the inspiration for this story. I managed to reference every line. You can find the lyrics at [www.greenplastic.com](http://www.greenplastic.com/radiohead-lyrics/in-rainbows/jigsaw-falling-into-place/)
> 
>  
> 
> You can find the music video [ here ](https://youtu.be/GoLJJRIWCLU).


End file.
